The Gold Bag Part 27

"First tell me the name of your informer;" and so great was her agitation that she scarcely breathed the words.

"I prefer not to do so, but I may say it is a reliable witness and one who gave his evidence most unwillingly."

"Well, if you will not tell me who he was, will you answer just one question about him? Was it Mr. Hall?"

"No; it was not Mr. Hall."

As I had antic.i.p.ated, she showed distinctly her relief at my answer.

Evidently she dreaded to hear Hall's name brought into the conversation.

"And now, Miss Lloyd, I ask you earnestly and with the best intent, please to tell me the details of your visit to Mr. Crawford that night in his office."

She sat silent for a moment, her eyes cast down, the long dark lashes lying on her pale cheeks. I waited patiently, for I knew she was struggling with a strong emotion of some sort, and I feared if I hurried her, her gentle mood would disappear, and she might again become angry or haughty of demeanor.

At last she spoke. The dark lashes slowly raised, and she seemed even more gentle than at first.

"I must tell you," she said. "I see I must. But don't repeat it, unless it is necessary. Detectives have to know things, but they don't have to tell them, do they?"

"We never repeat confidences, Miss Lloyd," I replied, "except when necessary to further the cause of right and justice."

"Truly? Is that so?"

She brightened up so much that I began to hope she had only some trifling matter to tell of.

"Well, then," she went on, "I will tell you, for I know it need not be repeated in the furtherance of justice. I did go down to my uncle's office that night, after Mrs. Pierce had been to my room; and it was I--it must have been I--who dropped those rose petals."

"And left the bag," I suggested.

"No," she said, and her face looked perplexed, but not confused. "No, the bag is not mine, and I did not leave it there. I know nothing of it, absolutely nothing. But I did go to the office at about eleven o'clock. I had a talk with my uncle, and I left him there a half-hour later--alive and well as when I went in."

"Was your conversation about your engagement?"

"Yes."

"Was it amicable?"

"No, it was not! Uncle Joseph was more angry than I had ever before seen him. He declared he intended to make a new will the next morning, which would provide only a small income for me. He said this was not revenge or punishment for my loyalty to Mr. Hall, but--but--"

"But what?" I urged gently.

"It scarcely seems loyal to Mr. Hall for me to say it," she returned, and the tears were in her eyes. "But this is all confidential. Well, Uncle Joseph said that Gregory only wanted to marry me for my fortune, and that the new will would prove this. Of course I denied that Mr. Hall was so mercenary, and then we had a good deal of an altercation. But it was not very different from many discussions we had had on the same subject, only Uncle was more decided, and said he had asked Mr. Randolph to come the next morning and draw up the new will. I left him still angry--he wouldn't even say good-night to me--and now I blame myself for not being more gentle, and trying harder to make peace. But it annoyed me to have him call Gregory mercenary--"

"Because you knew it was true," I said quietly.

She turned white to the very lips. "You are unnecessarily impertinent,"

she said.

"I am," I agreed. "I beg your pardon." But I had discovered that she did realize her lover's true nature.

"And then you went to your room, and stayed there?" I went on, with a meaning emphasis on the last clause.

"Yes," she said; "and so, you see, what I have told you casts no light on the mystery. I only told you so as to explain the bits of the yellow rose. I feared, from what you said, that Mr. Hall's name might possibly be brought into discussion."

"Why, he was not in West Sedgwick that night," I said.

"Where was he?" she countered quickly.

"I don't know. He refuses to tell. Of course you must see that his absolute refusal to tell where he was that night is, to say the least, an unwise proceeding."

"He won't even tell me where he was," she said, sighing. "But it doesn't matter. He wasn't here."

"That's just it," I rejoined. "If he was not here, it would be far better for him to tell where he really was. For the refusal to tell raises a question that will not be downed, except by an alibi. I don't want to be cruel, Miss Lloyd, but I must make you see that as the inquiry proceeds, the actions of both Mr. Hall and yourself will be subjected to very close scrutiny, and though perhaps undue attention will be paid to trifles, yet the trifles must be explained."

I was so sorry for the girl, that, in my effort not to divulge my too great sympathy, I probably used a sterner tone than I realized.

At any rate, I had wakened her at last to a sense of the danger that threatened her and her lover, and now, if she would let me, I would do all in my power to save them both. But I must know all she could tell me.

"When did Mr. Hall leave you?" I asked.

"You mean the day--last Tuesday?"

"Yes?"

"He left here about half-past five. He had been in the office with Uncle Joseph all the afternoon, and at five o'clock he came in here for a cup of tea with me. He almost always comes in at tea-time. Then he left about half-past five, saying he was going to New York on the six o'clock train."

"For what purpose?"

"I never ask him questions like that. I knew he was to attend to some business for Uncle the next day, but I never ask him what he does evenings when he is in the city, or at any time when he is not with me."

"But surely one might ask such questions of the man to whom she is betrothed."

Miss Lloyd again put on that little air of hauteur which always effectually stopped my "impertinence."

"It is not my habit," she said. "What Gregory wishes me to know he tells me of his own accord."

XIV. MR. PORTER'S VIEWS

I began on a new tack.

"Miss Lloyd, why did you tell an untruth, and say you did not come down-stairs again, after going up at ten o'clock?"

Her hauteur disappeared. A frightened, appealing look came into her eyes, and she looked to me like a lovely child afraid of unseen dangers.

"I was afraid," she confessed. "Yes, truly, I was afraid that they would think I had something to do with the--with Uncle Joseph's death. And as I didn't think it could do any good to tell of my little visit to him, I just said I didn't come down. Oh, I know it was a lie--I know it was wicked--but I was so frightened, and it was such an easy way out of it, just to deny it."